


all that we were is gone (but we can hold on)

by cursive



Series: the game was rigged from the start [1]
Category: NU'EST, Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: (more specifically New Vegas), Alternate Universe - Fallout, Blood and Injury, M/M, Minhyun got banned from the Brotherhood of Steel, Post-Apocalypse, Seongwu is a Kings member
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 16:10:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15710682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cursive/pseuds/cursive
Summary: Fallout New Vegas AU. Drabble/shortfic series about Kings gangster Seongwu and Brotherhood of Steel defector Minhyun, and the friends they make along the way.1. Seongwu finds a dying man during his morning patrol.





	all that we were is gone (but we can hold on)

**Author's Note:**

> happy... onghwang week... i'm so sorry for this I DON'T KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED but i wanted to make pretty graphics for a FNV AU and went way overboard with the snippet that was meant to follow it. oh well.
> 
> i'll try not to go heavy on lore for those who haven't played/don't know the Fallout series but for context: the setting is in post-nuclear apocalypse united states, in the mojave desert/now wasteland + a rebuilt version of las legas.  
> \- seongwu is a slum dweller who joined a stylish, elvis presley-esque gang  
> \- minhyun is a fugitive from a very closed off faction that steals/keeps pre-apocalyptic knowledge called brotherhood of steel  
> \- jisung is a doctor/member of the followers of the apocalypse, a humanitarian group that helps people in need, woojin is his apprentice
> 
> other members will be added in new drabbles/chapters, but:  
> \- jihoon+daniel are members of the great khans, a deadly gang that roams the mojave  
> \- sungwoon is an officer of the new california republic  
> \- jaehwan is a new vegas entertainer/musician  
> \- guanlin is the heir of the arms-dealing family on the freeside/lives in new vegas  
> \- jinyoung and his family were captured by the legion, an autocratic slaver society  
> \- daehwi is part of the white glove society, one of the three families that command new vegas
> 
> i... hope it's not too complicated GHDSGFJH this is actually a side-story/spinoff of an EXO au i've been dwelling over since last year, hence why none of them is the courier/has a really important role. fun fact though: the one chasing/fighting minhyun is sehun LMAO ...and the kings leader... is yixing so there's that

It’s unusually quiet outside when Seongwu leaves for his morning patrol; the Freeside is by no means a calm or safe place, but that’s what he’s there for, anyway, and rather than reassuring it feels unsettling when there is absolutely nothing happening. The early hours of the morning might be the quietest of the day, but it never meant they were uneventful.

Someone must have died when he was off-duty. Damn. That’s boring. He always misses out on the fun.

Seongwu’s patrol route usually consisted of a walk around the block, a visit to the dumpsters and of double checking both entrances to the slum. He would usually pay a visit to the fort out of habit, wave hello to Jisung and his assistants before moving on in his walk, one hand always glued to the holster on his belt; it’s not that he actually _enjoyed_ joining fights, but a man had to do what he had to do and his specific job, other than occasionally entertaining the King on stage, was to keep what little order was left in that strip of land he had learned to call _home_.

Things are almost disappointingly too calm when he reaches the dumpsters, the one place one can expect some action or at least a bit of arguing to happen, with all the scammers and beggars that would often camp all over the place, trying to lure innocent locals and outsiders alike into donating some of their hard-fought over caps. Seongwu usually left them alone, even though he knew that some of his colleagues wouldn’t be that kind.

This morning, all the beggars are gone.

What greets him instead of the usual view of rusty metal containers and the occasional bonfire is a large piece of metal armor that he doesn’t notice under his feet until he trips on it.

He tumbles forward, arms floundering in front of his face to soften the impeding fall that never comes. Steadying his foot, it takes three-four-five more steps for Seongwu to stop in place, head whipping over his shoulder to glare at the offending piece of garbage.

Close to the piece he tripped on, another one, indistinguishable. Leg armor? A helmet? The damage is so heavy the piece had deformed into itself into a black shapeless blob. There is another smaller fragment a few steps ahead, and by now Seongwu figures they form a trail of sorts to treasures unknown, hidden behind the furthermost dumpster. He tightens the hold on his pistol and carefully follows the frayed pieces of metal.

At the end of the rainbow, the pot of gold.

Seongwu had heard many stories about the Brotherhood of Steel, despite having never seen a member up close. Stories of their big plans to store all the Old World technology they could get their hands on, be it by scavenging or by downright stealing, stories of their strictness, especially in that area where they were not supposed to be seen at all.

Stories of how they would brutally pursue defectors until they met their untimely demise.

Seongwu ignores the blood stains on the ground, too desensitized to any kind of violence to care at this point, but finds it hard to ignore the dent on the dumpster where the armored person had landed on. He zeroes in on the blonde mop of hair peeking from underneath the brown ragged cloak; there is dirt and blood smeared all over it, and as his eyes roam he notices pieces and bits and pieces of armor precariously clinging to his legs, the only other visible part of the poor fellow. _Well, too late for him, by the look of it_ , Seongwu thinks, wincing as he shoots another glance at the dent; _let’s hope he died on impact._

A groan promptly proves Seongwu wrong.

He immediately kneels next to the man, watching as small clouds of dust lift from the ground close to where he’s breathing. Despite knowing a bit of first aid (Jisung had made sure to teach him back when he was rowdier and keen on brawling thugs instead of simply shooting them dead to spare him the job), Seongwu felt at a loss; how was he to know the extent of the damage, and did he even want to look?

“Hey”, he whispers to the fallen figure, “can you hear me?”

Another grunt, then endless trembling; Seongwu is half-tempted to flip that poor sod over to further assess the damage, but he knows better than to manhandle a severely injured person. One hand peeks out from underneath the cloak, reaching blindly towards Seongwu, and he can’t help but scowl in horror at its state.

“Holy shit, what did you do to your hand?”

To say that man’s hand was _mangled_ would be too kind; it looked like as it had been crushed by a very large hammer. Hell, it probably _was_ crushed by a very large hammer.

The man takes a deep breath, moaning in pain as he exhales, then slowly, painfully, lifts his head, staring at Seongwu. Part of his face is bruised and swollen and the hollowness of his cheeks is very telling of how far gone he was; yet, there was something quite interesting to his eyes that Seongwu couldn’t help but find fascinating.

Seongwu almost slaps himself. _Thirsting over a dead man is a new low for you, Ong_ , he can almost _hear_ Jisung say. Or his boss, even.

The man opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a creaky moan. He closes his eyes, and Seongwu wonders if he would be crying if he had any water left in his system.

“M-my… My glove”, the man croaks out, voice raw from lack of use (or maybe from screaming out in pain, considering the apparent beating he just got). “They—they crushed it.”

“Glove?”, Seongwu asks, chancing another look at his hand (and immediately regretting doing so, that looked _ugly_ ), allowing his eyes to stray further from the man at the mess around them; surely, there it was, the huge metal glove Seongwu had seen some people use before to _punch others to death_.

Maybe he’s thankful the thing’s completely useless now, he wouldn’t stand a chance against that one.

“Uh, your—it wasn’t the only thing they crushed, pal”, Seongwu says, not as sensibly as he thinks he should have; the man barely blinks, looking up at him in confusion as he braces himself on his other – hopefully _good_ , Seongwu can’t see it underneath the cloak – hand to prop himself up.

“I need—“, he mutters, whines when something hurts (Seongwu can’t be sure what it is now), a dazed look to his eyes, like he’s not quite there. Seongwu can’t blame him for that; he, too, would rather be anywhere but in his mangled body if something like this happened to him, too. “—to go back. Find them—before they—they can find me.”

Seongwu frowns. “Look, man, I don’t know where you came from, but you’re in need of some serious help and maybe a bit of rest. Looks like someone was trying to kill you here, to be honest.”

“They were”, the man replies, dead serious for someone who should be in a lot of pain. “The Brotherhood—”

Ah, yes. Seongwu hates being right.

“Easy”, he says, interrupting whatever that poor fellow was going on about. “I don’t know how you ended up here but we sure as hell won’t let any of your _friends_ in until we’ve sorted you out, got it?” He offers him a hand, then mentally smacks himself as he is reminded of the mangled hand. “Let me help you up. I’ll take you to the Followers, they’ll fix you up good—”

“They’ll kill me too”, the man deadpans; it catches Seongwoo off guard he ends up laughing.

“They wouldn’t kill a fly”, Seongwu retorts, “and if you can talk this much I can only assume you’re not in bad shape enough for a mercy kill.”

Another pained groan as the man finally drags himself to a sitting position; the cloak opens at his front, revealing a broken chest piece for an armor and a severely ripped undershirt, probably from being dragged on the ground. “It—this is nothing”, he says just as he gets a good look at his hand and positively, pitifully whimpers, before he gets a hold of himself again. “I’ve had worse.”

Seongwu holds back from chuckling. “Me too, pal.”

 

 

The man talks through the whole walk to the Fort; Seongwu feels like his ears might fall off, as well as his arms (even without the armor, that man is by no means small nor light and Seongwu is making the most effort out of the two), but lets him spill everything anyway because maybe he needed to let it out, and maybe because he sort of had a nice voice, deep but sweet despite the hoarseness from, well, getting beaten up to a pulp and thrown into a dumpster.

He tells Seongwu, amidst short pauses for air or for just crying in pain whenever his bad leg was jostled or his hand brushed against something, about his great escape from the hideout of the Brotherhood, how he crossed over the elder and the head scribe by stealing back the _same technology they stole_ (his words, not Seongwu’s), tired of _isolating ourselves and refusing to help the outside world when so much wrong gets done_.

Seongwu nods at the right moments, pretends to understand in others. He knows as much about the Brotherhood as he knows about the casinos just the other side of the high metal walls right next to Freeside; living this close to New Vegas never meant he had been privileged enough to be allowed entrance to that world.

Truth to be told, he hadn’t seen much of what’s outside the slums. The Kings recruited him way too early for that, and he still was way too low in the ranks to be granted more liberties. Hell, even the King’s _dog_ could wander around more than he could. Thankfully, he wasn’t one to complain. It could be worse. It could be the freaky weapons-dealing family one block away.

It’s sort of a relief, despite being quite alarming as well, when the man promptly passes out the moment they reach the Fort. It wasn’t a long walk, Seongwu figures, but it was made much longer by the injuries and the fact that Seongwu, who could barely carry a box of Nuka Cola upstairs without hyperventilating, was carrying him alone through the streets and alleyways.

Jisung is bemused at the sight, to say the least.

“What did you do to this poor guy, Seongwu?”, he asks, tone biting but not angry, as he helps Seongwu dump the man’s limp body on one of the beds in the medical tent. “I thought you weren’t fighting anymore. You always lost, anyway.”

“Hey”, Seongwu protests defensively, “I won a couple times. Maybe three—anyway, it _wasn’t_ me! He was already like that when I found him. Wearing some funky armor, too.”

Jisung raises an eyebrow as he straightens the man on the bed. “Armor, huh—good god, what happened to his hand?”

Seongwu winces. “Someone crushed his punching glove while he was still wearing it.”

The man whimpers loudly in his fitful sleep when Jisung prods his injured hand. “That’s bad. I’m not sure I can fix it.” He winces, then turns around to fetch his equipment. “I hope he’s ambidextrous.”

“I don’t even know his name, so”, Seongwu shrugs, unsure if he’s 1. willing to watch Jisung perform surgery on a dying man, 2. disclose just yet that the man is part of the Brotherhood of Steel. Or was. Seongwu is not sure anymore, that fellow talked so much he made him feel dizzy. “I’ll. I’ll report back to the Kings. Then come back here when you’re done.”

Jisung nods, barely paying attention to Seongwu, fully concentrated on picking out whatever weapons— _instruments_ , Seongwu corrects himself before he makes a tasteless joke – he needs to save that man from impending doom. Or just a very painful recovery, really. “I’ll have Woojin let you know when I’m finished. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“You’re so mean to me”, Seongwu mock whines, pulling at the tent flap to excuse himself. “I just did a very smart thing, thank you very much.”

“With the amount of work you’re about to give me because of this guy”, Jisung mutters, “it might as well have been a very stupid thing.”

Seongwu laughs. “Don’t let the admin hear that. Remember, you _love_ saving lives!”

Jisung groans as Seongwu walks away, also grinning to himself.

 

 

Seongwu makes sure to be around when the man wakes up.

Not only because—well, because he _cares_ , to an extent – what? He just saved a life! –, but also because the first thing he was told to do after reporting the entire situation was to keep an eye on the mysterious outsider, especially because of the threat the ones pursuing him posed to Freeside.

So, in a way, he’s just doing his job, he reasons with himself.

It’s already dark outside despite the summer keeping the sun up a little longer. It was a complicated procedure, Jisung had tried to explain to him before he covered his ears and started singing loudly to avoid the graphic descriptions of putting finger bones back together. He can’t help it if he’s a little squeamish.

Nevertheless, the mysterious Brotherhood of Steel fugitive extraordinaire had survived. Would survive. Was _mostly out of danger_.

( _He’s a tough one,_ Jisung had said. _Sturdy, too. The armor did save him, but he’s—he’s… meaty. I should stop talking now._

Seongwu tends to be friends with people who run their mouths as much as he does. He should be used to that.)

It takes a while longer for the mysterious man to finally wake up, but Seongwu distracts himself with one of Jisung’s old books from the Vaults until he does. He groans, a familiar sound by now to Seongwu, as he stirs, craning his neck upwards in an awkward attempt to stretch his back.

His bad hand is fully immobilized and bandaged, and his bad leg is suspended from a rope tied to the ceiling structure of the barrack. Seongwu sort of feels bad for him, but hey, things could be worse.

“Rise and shine”, Seongwu sing-songs when the man blinks at the ceiling, finally looking half-awake; that causes the man to immediately whip his head towards him, followed by more moans of pain. Seongwu is starting to feel a little worse for him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You—”, the man pauses, squints at Seongwu under the dim light of the barrack, then tries to look down on himself, bandaged and tucked under a heavy blanket despite the heat. “You brought me here.”

Seongwu beams at him. “Great, you remember things.” He pulls his creaky folding chair closer to the bed for the man’s convenience. “I just realized you never told me your name, so I came over to ask. Also to check on you, I suppose.”

It’s rather comical, how the man’s eyes go wide despite one of them being pressed close by the slowly waning bruises; it’s too dark to tell, but Seongwu thinks he sees the makings of a faint blush on his one unbruised cheek. It would be rather cute, if half his face wasn’t swollen and green-purple around the edges.

“I—sorry about that”, he hastily apologizes, drawing another smile from Seongwu. “I’m Minhyun. Talking hurts.”

“But you did a whole lotta that when I was bringing you here back in the morning, huh?”, Seongwu questions amusedly. “I actually have a few questions to ask you, but that can wait until you’re feeling a little less battered.”

He moves to stand up when Minhyun’s voice startles him back into place. “Wait.

“You—your name. You didn’t tell me, either.”

Oh.

Seongwu shrugs. “It’s Seongwu. Ong, if we’re getting into specifics and surnames. No one calls me that, though. It always comes out like _Hong_ when they try.”

Minhyun smiles a lop-sided smile he immediately regrets when his dry lips split open. “Okay. Seongwu. Thanks for helping me out.”

“You can say _saving your life_ , it wasn’t that far from what I did”, Seongwu jokingly corrects him. “Don’t sweat it, we collect down on their luck fellas to bring here all the time, you’re not special.”

Okay, maybe that was a little harsh, because now Minhyun looks more disappointed than he had the right to because _it was a joke!_ Don’t these Brotherhood people ever joke about very serious things?

(well, considering Minhyun’s state after trying to break ties with them, maybe they weren’t really the joking type.)

“I know I’m not special”, Minhyun replied, suddenly too serious for Seongwu’s liking. “I—I don’t think I even have a surname to myself anymore.” He pauses, probably because _talking hurts._ “I had to drop it when I left. For good. You know.”

Oh no. This is getting to emotional grounds. Seongwu is never ready for the emotional part of any conversation. Mostly because there’s crying. Mostly because _he’s_ the one who does the crying. Jisung had already made fun of him that week, his ego couldn’t take any more hits.

“Hey, now”, he admonishes Minhyun, voice going soft. “You can always start over. This might not be the neatest or most peaceful neighborhood, but—it’s not a bad place to start, either.”

Wait, what is he even saying? This Minhyun guy’s very presence was a threat, if whatever attacked him intended on coming back to finish the job. He distinctly remembers seeing a power fist like Minhyun’s before, but he wasn’t sure _what_ they had exactly that could counter it, not to mention the sheer _size_ of the armor Minhyun had been wearing, if they were to go by the pieces collected near the dumpsters put together.

Why is he inviting this guy to stay? Because he feels bad for his half-told sob story? Because he’s handsome and great at keeping up a conversation?

( _Pfft, handsome_ , Seongwu laughs to himself. He can barely make out Minhyun’s face under all that bruising. Having nice eyes meant _nothing_ )

As if he could read his thoughts, Minhyun chuckles, making yet another pained noise right afterwards. “I don’t think you’ll want me to stay. They might think I’m dead now, but—if they don’t, I’m pretty much screwed.”

Seongwu presses his lips together. While that _was_ a good point, he really didn’t feel like making things worse for someone who had just narrowly escaped death at the hands of possibly loved ones. Minhyun was self-aware enough to know he wouldn’t be welcome to stay under those circumstances, but Seongwu didn’t need to confirm that so soon.

“Hey, we’ll—“, he starts, scratching at the back of his head in frustration. “We don’t have to think about this now. You’ll still need time to recover—we won’t kick you out with a broken leg and a bad hand, don’t worry.” He smiles, lop-sided and with an eyebrow raised, like how he does when he wants to chat someone up at the Atomic Wrangler or convince his boss that he’s right about something. “Take your time to recover. Jisung would kill us if we told you otherwise.”

“Oh”, Minhyun replies, a little dumbfounded, before he nods, forgoing smiling altogether – which is a good thing, his split lip is starting to bleed. “Right. Okay. Thank you for your hospitality.”

Seongwu shrugs him off. “’S no big deal. I really gotta go, now”, he says as he stands up and folds the chair back. “It’s talent night at the Kings. You should check it out when you’re allowed to get out of your bed.”

Minhyun hums. “Sounds interesting. What’s a talent night?”

Seongwu gapes at him for an unreasonably long time, shocked but also sort of mocking him, because—well, he had an idea about the Brotherhood isolating themselves into oblivion, but he had never quite taken the _oblivion_ part seriously. “You’re really a sheltered kid, huh?”

“Well”, Minhyun rolls his eyes – his one eye that can actually stay open – “I kind of grew up in one.”

This time, Seongwu full-on laughs. Yeah, that fellow was self-aware alright. “Well, then, I guess you’ll have to come to one to see for yourself. Preferably when I’m performing.”

Minhyun can’t hold his smile, this time; Seongwu feels half-tempted to pull out the ratty handkerchief he keeps in his pocket for various purposes to dab the blood off his mouth. Jisung would probably kill him for being _unsanitary_ , though. “I’ll do my best”, he replies, then asks, “you’ll come again tomorrow?”

 _Wasn’t planning to_ , is the rehearsed response Seongwu should give him when this question came – _if_ it ever came, because he sort of wasn’t expecting it –, because he’s no lost boy babysitter to visit a guy he just basically picked up from trash just out of _attachment_. The only creature Kings were attached to – other than the real _King_ himself, the legend they modeled themselves after – was Rex, the dog.

(of course, Jisung, and to an extent Woojin, also _sort of kind of_ mattered to him, but they didn’t really count. Nor did the kind old lady from the house in front of the King’s School, nor the kids who liked to play cowboys and bandits near the weapons store. It was… sort of a long list. But they didn’t count anyway.)

In the end, Seongwu finds himself saying “sure, if you want me to”, and he hears the wavering in the attempt at sounding _detached_ in his voice that kills the entire purpose of _not caring_ about people.

And he decides it kind of doesn’t matter, because Minhyun looks happy enough about the answer to say “yeah, I’d like that” like he _meant it_.

Goddamnit. Seongwu had gone twenty-three years in his life without making any friends _just fine_. (another lie he told himself) He didn’t need one now. (and, again, a lie)

He could go another twenty-three without one, he thought to himself, beaming down at Minhyun, saying “good, I’ll see you tomorrow then”, bidding him good night and then proceeding to do his best to leave the Fort unnoticed so Jisung wouldn’t make fun of how _smiley_ he was.

Besides, he could always tell himself this was field work; he barely knew Minhyun at all, how could they trust him to be saying the truth? More investigation had to be done.

Seongwoo can see himself visiting the Fort for a long while, now.

**Author's Note:**

> soundtrack, as usual  
> nine inch nails - we're in this together (also used for the title)  
> the entirety of exo's the war album bc it was my gaming jam last year when i went into a fnv binge frenzy; kokobop is a great song to kill legionnaires to :')
> 
> and uh, well, come [find me](https://twitter.com/orionza_e), you know the drill


End file.
